


Junkie

by BalefireFlatlands



Category: Mad Max (Video Game 2015)
Genre: Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2019-09-18 00:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16984392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BalefireFlatlands/pseuds/BalefireFlatlands
Summary: Lectricy's addiction catches up to him.





	Junkie

Middle of the night in Gastown and the Outcrier woke crankily to the sound of screams. It wasn’t unusual, someone was feeding someone else to Scrotus’ giant grinder, the giant brute’s legacy. Rather than give a fuck, the voice of Gastown’s races was just annoyed. He was rich, he was important, he shouldn’t have to hear that shit and be woken up from a good nights sleep. But of course everyone in the refinery town loved being all showy and had to drag their victims through the entire town in order to prove a point.

The Outcrier would probably do the same if he ever actually deigned to get his hands dirty. But he had the luxury of never having to do that. The man had lackeys for everything he could ever want. Speaking of…

Grunting a little he propped himself up on his elbow, reaching down to the blanket on the ground where his little sex slave normally slept, curled up like a dog by his masters’ side. Only he wasn’t there. Fully waking up the Outcrier glanced around in confusion, Everything was always exactly how he desired it, had been for years, that was one of the perks of being famous, he got exactly what he wanted when he wanted it. And right now what he wanted wasn’t there.

Shifting around he finally spotted him, curled up on the other side of the bed, trying to take up as little space on the mattress as possible. That impertinent shit, how dare he move from where the Outcrier had told him he could sleep. The kid was lucky he didn’t force him to sleep out on the platform. Should have been grateful for all he’d done for him. Hell he’d even given him a blanket because he was so caring.

Anger coursing through his veins at being defied he crawled over there to punish him, raising a hand to smack him off the bed and put him back in his place. He faltered before his hand hit, eyes fully adjusting to the dim lighting and really looking at Lectricy.

He was shaking. Shivering.

Confusion beat out anger as the Outcrier stared at his pet. He couldn’t possibly be cold, it was always humid and stuffy in Gastown, the refinery pumping heat and pollution into the air for miles around. He put a hand on Lectricy’s shoulder and pulled him onto his back so he could glare down at him, yell him into submission like he normally did. Lectricy knew his place, he better have after all this time, and the Outcrier wasn’t going to go soft now and let him get away with doing whatever he wanted.

The words died in his throat and he pulled back to flick on a light so he could see better. Lectricy didn’t react at all, even though his eyes were half open. Worse his mouth and chest were covered in blood, glistening against the black staining across his body.

“What the fuck?” Inching closer his hands hovered just over Lectricy in indecision, not entirely sure what he was looking at. The blood was from Lectricy’s nose, still leaking out slowly, he must have been bleeding for hours for the amount of blood that was coating him and the mattress. But truthfully the blood wasn’t the worst part, the way his eyes were staring straight ahead unseeingly, unmoving, was deeply disturbing. If he hadn’t been shaking the Outcrier would have assumed he was dead. “Are … What… Can you hear me?”

No response. The Outcrier waved a hand in front of Lectricy’s face growing more concerned by the minute. He reached out to pull Lectricy further onto the bed, lay him out so he could figure out what was wrong with him, but the smaller man suddenly jerked out of his grasp as he violently seizured, tumbling off the bed and continuing to spasm on the ground. The Outcrier just watched, too stunned to act.

Once the convulsions had stopped and Lectricy was laying in a heap the Outcrier finally got off the bed and approached him. Slowly. Almost as if he didn’t want to see what he was seeing. The shaking had been strange, the half open eyes concerning, but the blood and the seizures? Suddenly the Outcrier knew exactly what was happening. Living in Gastown for most of his life he’d seen hundreds of junkies come and go.

Lectricy was dying.

His perfect little slave, who wanted nothing other than affection and his fume, was finally succumbing to the effects of a lifetime of huffing gasoline. What was he supposed to do about this? He’d had other slaves die before; he’d just dumped them on the streets so he didn’t have to watch, make it someone else’s problem. But Lectricy… The thought of him dying alone in the street made something in the Outcrier physically ill. He couldn’t do that to the man who by all accounts had been his lover for years. It had always been one sided, Lectricy was just an object to be used whenever the Outcrier wanted, and the only reason that the man had even kept him for as long as he had was because he was so alluringly submissive.

Hell, he didn’t even know what Lectricy’s actual name was. He’d never cared and it wasn’t like the kid ever talked about himself. Not that he talked much at all anyway. Just the way the Outcrier liked. Reaching down he awkwardly put his arms beneath Lectricy, lifting him up and cradling him to his chest. He didn’t often pick him up, and he marveled that his generator boy weighed almost nothing, so small and slender, but muscled in all the right places.

As soon as he put him back on the bed Lectricy curled up making a strange stammering sound like he was trying to speak, his eyes seemed to focus briefly but then lose the ability to track what was in front of him. The Outcrier sat next to him, hesitantly putting a hand on his side.

What should he do? Taking him to the Organic was out of the question, the man was one step up from being a butcher, and this wasn’t something that could be fixed with a blood transfusion. That and the Outcrier was loathe to carry Lectricy through Gastown to the Organic’s shop. He had an image to uphold, and it wouldn’t do to be seen caring about his little fuck toy. Because he didn’t care. He rarely remembered the guy was a person rather than a fuckable piece of furniture that followed him around.

Lectricy made another strange noise, this one definitely sounded like he was in pain, and flexed his fingers. Unthinkingly the Outcrier put his hand in his generator boy’s, relieved when he squeezed it and rubbed his thumb against the older man’s palm. He was still somewhat conscious anyway. It was a few minutes before he realized how this looked, sitting next to his slave and holding his hand. The Outcrier jerked away suddenly, startling a sob out of Lectricy and he immediately felt terrible about it.

The guy was dying and he couldn’t even make him comfortable in his last moments. Taking a deep breath, and then another, he slid his hand back into Lectricy’s, trying to swallow down all the emotions that were threatening to bubble up in him. He didn’t have those anymore, he didn’t care about anyone but himself. He certainly didn’t care about a slave he’d bought for the sole purpose of having sex with whenever he felt like. But watching Lectricy struggle to speak, obviously hurting, was doing something terrible to the Outcrier’s resolve.

Leaning down he pulled the blanket off the floor using it to clean the blood from his boy. He’d been fucking Lectricy for years and right in this moment he realized he’d never really looked at him before. How the black staining went up from his chest to his jaw, framing his mouth in a way that was downright seductive. He’d never noticed the small crescent shaped scars on his shoulders, barely visible under the black gunk that had permanently marred him. As he cleaned him he couldn’t help but stare at him. He knew so little about the man he shared his bed with. He liked to treat him like he was a kid, but Lectricy was definitely older than he looked. 25? 30? Even older? The Outcrier had no idea.

Another odd sound escaped Lectricy, but this one was accompanied by small movements in all his limbs. Was he trying to get up? The Outcrier wrapped an arm around him, pulling him against his chest as he scooched back against the wall. Lectricy’s head hung limply but he seemed to be breathing easier, and his hands found the Outcrier’s legs, fingertips rubbing against the older man’s skin.

“That’s it. Stay with me.” The Outcrier’s voice was so different than normal, softer, none of the usual gruffness. He’d never held Lectricy, not like he was right now, but the sight of his slave covered in blood and struggling for consciousness had hit some tiny bit of humanity he still had left. The last remaining shred of the person he had been before he became the Outcrier.

If he was awake, and the Outcrier could keep him that way, maybe he wasn’t dying. Possibilities flashed through his mind: could he overdose while huffing? Could he have been poisoned? When even was the last time he’d had his fume? He’d run out at some point and the Outcrier couldn’t be arsed to mess up his schedule and find him more on such short notice.

And then it hit him. Lectricy wasn’t dying. Though he probably felt like it. He was going through withdrawal. It had been almost three days since he’d had any fume, and the little addict was feeling it hard.

With a sigh of relief the Outcrier shifted so that Lectricy could comfortably lay against him, leaning his head back so he wasn’t hanging lifelessly. He’d never taken care of another human being in his entire life, and he’d never wanted to. But watching Lectricy who was obviously suffering was tearing at him. He didn’t know how to fix it, he barely knew what Lectricy liked normally much less what would make him feel better when he was in this state.

And maybe that was something he needed to change. Not that the man was going to admit to caring about Lectricy in the least. But it was really hard to pretend he was just an object when he was leaned against him, every breath laborious, fingers clenched against his skin.

“You’re okay. Gonna be fine.” With no experience reassuring people he grimaced at how pathetic that sounded. He just didn’t know what to say. The man’s job was to bullshit with people all day, and he couldn’t find the words he needed to tell someone else that he cared, that he was going to make sure they were alright. Instead he reached a hand up to stroke Lectricy’s scalp, petting him as if he were a dog.

It must have been enough because Lectricy sighed softly, relaxing in his arms. Was that all it took? Lectricy was obedient to a fault, but realizing that he trusted the Outcrier completely took the older man by surprise. Sure he’d never punched Lectricy in the face or beaten him with a pipe or anything, but he’d definitely smacked him around, and had never once considered the generator boy’s wants or needs. He’d done nothing to earn that sort of trust.

Lectricy seemed to be coming back to himself, reaching up to wipe away blood from his nose. But he was still trembling and his motions were jerky, like a marionette. He made a questioning noise as he looked at the blood smears on his chest.

“You’re going through withdrawal. You’ll be fine once it gets out of your system.” Or so he sincerely hoped, he’d never actually seen anyone this addicted stop using fume. But in the long run he’d live longer the less he huffed. And suddenly that was incredibly important to the Outcrier. He would never admit that he’d been bordering on scared, seeing his slave suffering, and that the thought of him dying filled him with cold dread.

So instead he said nothing, just watching his pet as he struggled through this. Lectricy was having a rough time. He’d fall asleep for a few minutes and then wake up groaning and shaking. The Outcrier was exhausted from trying to comfort him and forcibly shutting down any emotions he might have about this situation.

The sun had come up and Gastown was alive with noise and activity, but the Outcrier didn’t move from where he was laying behind Lectricy and being his support. No one needed to know he wasn’t out on the platform because he was taking care of his lover, he’d just make sure they thought he wasn’t there because he was fucking his brains out. His existence was all about appearances, what he did was far less important than what he said he did. And convincing people of anything was what he was best at.

Mid-day and Lectricy shifted around to look up at the Outcrier before he leaned his head against his chest, butting his head up under the man’s chin. The Outcrier froze, completely unused to receiving or giving any sort of affection. Hesitantly he rested his hands on Lectricy’s back, letting him snuggle up against him.

Gastown didn’t burst into flame. Lectricy didn’t start being disobedient. No one in the town started undermining his authority because he let his slave cuddle.

Nothing happened at all other than Lectricy making some happy sounding noises as he brought his arms up to hold his master as he tried to fall back asleep. Okay. The Outcrier could do this. It was stupid and he didn’t want to, but he’d let Lectricy hold him if it made him feel better. He couldn’t even say he didn’t care about his health or well being anymore since he’d currently spent hours just making sure Lectricy was still breathing.

Lectricy murmured something about the Outcrier being warm and comfortable and the older man rolled his eyes. “Don’t get used to this.”

That just made Lectricy hold him tighter. Great, he was probably going to expect this kind of treatment all the time.

Well, the Outcrier would have to deal with that if it happened. Right now he’d let Lectricy do whatever he wanted. He was just pleased that the kid wasn’t dying. Closing his eyes he leaned his head back against the wall behind the bed, tightening his grip around Lectricy as he started to slide down while he slept.

He’d be disgusted when he woke up fully spooning with Lectricy. But it was disturbingly comfortable, and he’d begrudgingly admit to himself, but no one else, that he’d slept pretty good. He could maybe see himself doing that again in the future. Maybe. If Lectricy was real good. And he was feeling generous. In private where no one would ever know.

Lectricy still felt like complete crap, but the day had taken an amazing turn for the better. This was definitely something he could get used to. He wriggled happily, pressing closer as the Outcrier grumbled and squeezed him.

Once he was feeling better he was going to try and get this every night. Maybe he had grown disobedient.

But the Outcrier didn’t seem to mind.


End file.
